Hell If I Know

Every night when I lay in bed, I write entries for this blog in my head. Things happen during the day and I think how I could tell that story, and by the next morning all those thoughts are gone gone gone. I don't have any of the stories now, either.

We spent the weekend at the family lakehouse, the Ponderosa, if you will, and let the dog run like crazy off-leash. She'd sprint out ahead of me, and return when I called, but after 20 minutes or so, she'd be at the front door of the house wanting to head back in and curl up on her dog bed. Miz Explorer she is not.

As we do everytime we head up to the Ponderosa, we all slept in the same room. Usually Luke sleeps in some 1970's swaying crib of death (which I would never put him in if he were under 8 months or so, but he can kick that crib's ass now), but since he's moved up to the bed, we put him in the toddler bed.

At home, he has his race car bed, which is twin sized and has an edge all around it. The toddler bed up north only has railings on the top and half the sides. In the middle of the night on Saturday Luke got his head stuck between our bed and his bed. I repositioned him and within five minutes he had fallen between the beds completely, at which point I reached down, grabbed one leg and one arm and plopped him between us.

It would be nice if he slept uneventfully through the rest of the night, but Esposo moved him back to the toddler bed at some point, which the dog had to be shooed off, and when he fell out AGAIN later and I moved him into the bed, Esposo went to find a space to sleep that gave him, oh, space. Luke then kneaded my back with his feet until he fell asleep.

Tonight, I'm exhausted.